


Bleed

by theLiterator



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: Midnight visits and Dick knows better, but this is what he wants.





	Bleed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



There’s something about the fact that Slade breaks into his room for this that makes this all okay, Dick thinks.

Familiar gloved hands hold him down, and he opens his eyes to meet the inscrutable one-eyed stare of a man he’s not supposed to trust, not really.

There’s a difference between allegiances and trust, after all, and that’s been a constant for longer than anything else in his life.

“Kid,” Slade growls, and there’s a mouth on his after that, teeth cutting into his lip and the sharp sting of bright pain fading into a dull throb as the taste of blood mingles with the sweeter sensation of saliva between them, and he’s not supposed to kiss back, maybe, but there’s nothing he wants more, sometimes, and Slade always seems to come when it’s like that.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Dick protests, pushing him away, token resistance because that’s who he is, there for more for the effect of looking like a dissenting voice more so than an actual person.

“What, worried about the old man getting an eyeful?” Slade asks, twisting to cast a glare at the security camera that Dick really should have fought harder against being installed, except for how he _couldn’t_.

“Not really,” Dick said, sitting up and then twisting them, taking momentary control of their positions and pinning the older man to the bed. “Just worried about whoever it is you’re hiding from.”

“Don’t, kid,” Slade said. “It’s not your problem.”

“Can’t help it,” Dick said. “You only show up here when you need a place to lay low. One of these days someone’s going to realize and it’s going to become my problem.”

“Never happen,” Slade said, a sort of solemn promise that Dick didn’t like to hear from him, a promise that implied that there was more to them than this, and he shucked off his shirt to distract from the moment.

Slade smirked at him like he knew exactly what was going on in Dick’s head, and Dick grinned back unselfconsciously, because he was known for his distractions, and besides, Slade had let the redirect work, raking his gaze down Dick’s chest like it wasn’t something he’d seen a hundred times before.

“Fire escape?” Slade asked, running his hand lightly over the nasty black bruise that was just starting to come into its own, and Dick nodded.

“Grappel broke,” he said. “And I still can’t fly, sadly.”

Slade snorted, then curled his hands around Dick’s shoulders and drew him down for a new kiss, gentler this time, that vague promise of sweetness closer to the forefront now, his mouth hot and heady against DIck’s, his lips stinging the cuts for before but no teeth to make new ones, just a steady give and take that Dick could drown in forever.

He drew back for air, and Slade was still looking at him, still _cataloguing_ and his fingers found a new scar that was still pinkish and sensitive, making Dick tremble.

“If I was a better man, I’d tell you to get out of this life. What are you gonna do the day you wind up killed, kid?”

“Nah,” Dick said. “A better man would probably still know that I won’t get out of this life alive and I prefer it that way.”

Slade sat up, keeping Dick close so they were pressed chest to chest, so Dick was in his lap and still a little shorter than him. He tilted Dick’s chin up and forced him to meet his gaze.

“You know that’s a contract I’ll take, right?” he said.

Dick shivered a little, and then he grinned. “Yeah, I mean, that’s who you are. And this is who I am. And _you_ broke into _my_ room. Wasn’t there something you wanted?”

It’s flirtation the only way Slade will take it, a challenge he answers by flipping Dick back off of him and yanking down his pajama bottoms, leaving him naked and twisted uncomfortably on the blankets.

“Here,” Slade said, pushing Dick’s hands firmly up next to his head. “Maybe I’ll let you touch when I’m done.

Dick rolls his eyes, but when Slade looms over him to bite his collarbone and suck bruise down his torso, careful to avoid the nasty spot from that fire escape and paying extra attention to the healing scar until Dick is pressing up against him and moaning, nerve endings alight from the too-much pleasure/pain and the way he _wants_ but absolutely cannot touch. 

Slade teases, sharp bursts of attention from mouth and fingers stealing his attention for brief gasping moments while he ignores Dick’s swelling cock, a little bit of a smug smile tugging at his lips when he pauses for a moment to breathe over the tip and Dick opens his eyes on a startled whine and stares down at him.

Maybe it’s being woken from sleep, or maybe Slade just always does this to him, but he feels drunk off of just a little bit of foreplay, the sort of things he knows some of his other partners would see as basic, and he wants —

He wants Slade to take of his shirt, to climb over him and press him down into the mattress so ha can’t get a full breath, wants Slade’s hands to be the thing holding him back from _touching_ , and maybe that’ll bruise and maybe —

Slade gets a hand on him and Dick _moans_ , arching up and making Slade laugh.

“Been awhile?” he asks, and Dick shakes his head mutely, incomprehensibly.

“Please,” he manages to say, and Slade settles over him on his knees to shrug out of his shirt and then just stop and stare.

Dick wants to runs his hands over Slade’s chest, to feel the coarse silvering hair there, to touch, but Slade had told him to _stay_ and so he was staying.

“So polite,” Slade said. “Eternally the good kid, aren’t you?”

“No?” Dick offers, confused, because this — this isn’t what the good kid would do, and there are echoes of that throughout his life, he’s the first Robin, the golden child, the person Supes and Wonder Woman go to to _talk reason to him, Dick, you’re the only one..._

“Shit,” Slade says, and then he’s kissing Dick again, invading him, inevitable like the tide rising, and Dick sighs happily into the kiss, closing his hands into fists but not moving them.

He loves Slade like this, even though he knows he shouldn’t; being pinned to the mattress by sheer bulk, the differences between them thrown into stark relief and as close to helpless as Dick lets himself feel these days.

“Hey,” Slade whispers against his mouth. 

“Hi.” Dick replies. “Long time no see,” he adds, because if they’re greeting each other _now_ \-- and Slade laughs against his mouth and draws back just a little bit.

There’s slick in his hand, and Dick grimaces, embarrassed that he’d had it under his pillow for Slade to find, and a little bit turned on despite that. 

(Or maybe it was because of it — Slade messed up the synapses in his brain sometimes, he thought, so that having his ass handed to him and being hounded by a man who had destroyed his own children made his whole body flush and his mouth start watering.)

Dick wonders if Slade’s going to ask — he sort of hopes not, because he’s never sure how he would answer if he did, but he doesn’t. He just gets a hand around Dick’s hip and flips him over, twitching and adjusting him exactly so that everything is angled to Slade’s pleasing, and he spends some time sucking hard marks down Dick’s spine. He’ll feel them for days, a better sort of pain than the kind that constantly plagues him. This is simple, easy, and there’s nothing to think about here. This pain is not the heavy ache that marks the difference between trust and allegiance.

The click of the bottle lid, and then Slade pauses, the hesitation heavy in the room. Dick blinks open his eyes before he realizes he’s closed them and sees that comforting red telltale from the cameras Bruce is watching on.

“I should make you beg,” Slade said, his voice a rough rasp right in Dick’s ear that made him shiver.

“You won’t,” Dick said quietly enough that he wasn’t sure Slade would hear, and Slade laughed.

“Guess not,” he said after a minute, and then his hands were on Dick’s ass, squeezing a little before sliding a finger to rub gently at Dick’s hole, a wholly incongruous gesture from Slade that startled a whining desperate noise from Dick’s throat. “I don’t really need to _make_ you, anyway, do I?”

“Oh,” Dick said. “Don’t — just — fuck.”

“That is the plan,” Slade said, and then he pulled back enough to get his fingers slick and slid two of them in at once, too much, too much, and the rasp of calluses catch against him. He pants, twin desires to press back and jerk away warring until the sensation settles and he just wants _more_ , wants _everything._

“There you go,” Slade says, smug, and he’s _always_ smug, and it’s infuriating and dazzlingly attractive all at once, and Dick tries to summon words but all he can manage is a groan as Slade lazily rocks his fingers back and forth, barely enough sensation to work with and still enough sensation that Dick is halfway to seeing stars.

When he pulls his hand away, Dick protests with a grumble and Slade bends forward to press a secret, sweet kiss to the back of Dick’s head and Dick falls silent, stunned by it.

It isn’t enough that he’s surprised when Slade carefully enters him, his cock hard and hot and it feels like all of Dick’s being is centered on the point where they’re merged, and he forgets to breathe, one, two, until Slade is thrusting again and he sucks in a gasping breath and lets it out on a moan.

Slade is known for being merciless, uncaring in the face of his contracts, and maybe he is, a little, but his hands are heavy and warm and he pets down Dick’s uninjured side in long soothing motions until Dick jerks his hips back against him and growls.

“No one would believe you’re this needy, kid,” Slade says, which is a blatant lie, but Dick doesn’t have the words or breath to dispute it, so he burrows his face into the pillow and matches his rhythm to Slade’s until all there is between them is sweat and the sensation of skin against skin and Slade’s hands gripping him just hard enough to bruise, pressing marks into him like he wants to stay there forever.

For the moments where the pleasure stretches hard and taut between them, Dick can pretend that this is what they want.

When Slade’s grip on his hips gets rhythmic and tense, orgasm imminent, Dick angles his hips up and Slade bites a warning into his shoulder before he can get his hand under him, and then Slade closes a fist around his cock and slides it down, rough enough that Dick shouldn’t thrust into the sensation, too-sensitive from arousal, but it feels _right_ and eventually there’s a little but of his own slick easing what parts of it hurt, so that he’s thrusting back and forth, snapping his hips in time to Slade’s and waiting for everything to come to a head.

Slade finishes first, burying his groan in Dick’s shoulder with a series of nipping bites that he can feel all the way in his bones. Slade topples them onto their sides, and Dick Doesn’t have time to feel disappointed before Slade redoubles his efforts to get Dick off, his fist exactly the right sort of pressure so that it only takes a little effort to get Dick off.

Dick fights the pull of drowsiness he always feels post-orgasm and Slade nuzzles into his neck and says “Sleep, kid, I know you want to.”

Dick mumbles a protest, but he lets the weight and warmth of Slade draped against his back soothe him to sleep, even though he knows the man won’t be there in the morning.


End file.
